Penning Poison
by MissTempleton
Summary: Jack's less than delighted about his promotion. It turns out he may not be the only one.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Dammit, Phryne, stop it!" he whispered urgently.

"Stop what, Chief Inspector?" she asked with a cheery smile.

"You know perfectly well."

"Sorry, _Chief Inspector_. I must be very stupid. You'll have to explain."

"You'll be even more stupid when I've brained you with a champagne bottle."

"Now, _Chief Inspector_ , that's very ungracious of you. And how could we not have champagne at such an auspicious occasion?"

"I'd like to know who gave Elizabeth champagne."

"I did, _Chief Inspector_."

"Phryne, she's barely a year old."

"It was hardly a thimbleful, and the Mercier children have champagne before they receive their mother's milk. I'd call her a late starter, _Chief Inspector_."

"Right, that's it."

Stifling a giggle, The Honourable Phryne Fisher allowed herself to be grasped firmly by the wrist and dragged from Prudence Stanley's sitting room, where the assembled guests were pretending not to be watching the altercation between the State of Victoria's newest Detective Chief Inspector and his fashionable wife, avidly.

Pulling the door closed behind them, Jack took her by the shoulders and placed her firmly against the wall in the mansion's hallway. The waiting staff drifted to and fro behind him as though they occupied a parallel universe.

Phryne's expression was solemn, but her eyes sparkled with gleeful hilarity. She well knew how little Jack had desired this promotion; but she was also a confidante of the wife of the Chief Commissioner of Police, who had described to her in precise detail the reasons the Chief had made the decision, and ultimately refused to take "No, sir" for an answer.

"Since the Sanderson scandal, Phryne, the reputation of the whole department has been in tatters. It's a testament to your Jack that, despite having once been Sanderson's son-in-law, he's seen as having real integrity."

 _Indeed, Mary. He even got me to marry him._

People didn't often refer to him as Phryne's Jack. Phryne decided she liked it. She also liked Mrs Cooper; herself a woman of independent means when she'd married William Cooper – then just a rising star – Mary Cooper had proved herself to be of strong mind, which fortunately coincided with that of the Chief Commissioner.

In the meantime, Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson was already getting a bit tired of the teasing.

"I realise it's all a joke to you. It isn't to me. I didn't want it when the Chief first offered it, I've had every attempt to refuse it turned down, and I'm now in a position I didn't desire, doing a job I don't want, that might take me away from everything that I most love about half of my waking life; and instead of understanding how I feel about it … you're laughing."

She instantly sobered, and regarded him for a few moments before reaching for one of his hands and pulling him away from the studiously disinterested waiting staff. Strolling casually, to prove that the DCI and Mrs Robinson were merely taking the air, she walked him through the morning room and out of the French windows to the garden; where no-one but the birds were available to listen. Drawing him close behind a faithful, sturdy oak, she grasped his lapels gently and tried to explain.

"I'm laughing because I'm happy, Jack, but I think you're misunderstanding the reason why," she said carefully. "I do know how much you hate the change. Don't think for a moment I don't."

She smiled mistily at him for a moment. "Jack, darling, we might not even have met if you'd had this promotion too soon. How can I not appreciate one of the best strokes of luck I've ever had?"

To emphasise the point, she released him and smoothed his lapels down. Then she gave him a stern look.

"But that's just me. And this isn't about me, Jack, it's about you, and it's about the police force. Bill Cooper needs a DCI. Think about it for a second. Who's he got available to him?"

Jack refused to meet her gaze, but sulkily studied the bamboo fence at the edge of the lawn.

She persisted. "He needs someone he can rely on – to do the job, to inspire the men – and, hopefully, women – he commands."

She skimmed her hands down his arms and took both of his hands in hers, raising them to her lips.

"If he'd promoted anyone else, Jack, you wouldn't have wanted to work for them, would you?"

"That's nonsense," he muttered, "there are some good men …"

"Jack?" he was called out this time by the voice of his conscience, expressed by the person who knew it best.

He didn't need to express his reply in words, but when his shoulders sank in resignation, he pulled on the hands holding his and drew her in. For long minutes, they stood motionless, a study in solidarity.

"Help me?"

"Always."

Whispered, weighty vows; the only witness was the tree affording them shade from the sun overhead.

"Inspector? Er, Chief Inspector?"

A shout from the door of the garden room had them both tensing.

He shrugged, with a wry grin. "I'm guessing that if they'd run out of champagne, they'd be calling for you, not me?"

She squeezed his hand and they reluctantly stepped out of the tree's shade. A waiter was hesitating in the doorway; catching sight of them, he walked briskly across the lawn.

"Sorry, sir, but this came for you?" As he spoke he was proffering an envelope. Jack took it and scanned the address, but the typescript offered few clues. Turning it over, he slit it open with his finger, and drew out a single sheet of paper.

The same typescript adorned the page in beautiful symmetry. The message was … less beautiful.

"GAME'S UP, ROBINSON. ANOTHER BENT COPPER BITES THE DUST. DO AS I TELL YOU OR KISS YOUR CAREER GOODBYE. INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Phryne watched his face as he read, and saw his brow furrow and jaw drop in disbelief. The fact that he didn't resist at all when she twitched the note out of his fingers to read for herself spoke volumes, both of his shock and of the trust they shared.

She recovered first, and called to the retreating waiter.

"Come back! Where did you get this?"

"It was …" the man was stammering, realising he'd been bearing bad news rather than a telegram from the King, "… it was just sitting on the tray by the door, Miss – where we put the calling cards and the post."

"And you didn't see who put it there?" asked Jack harshly.

"N-no sir."

Phryne swung back to face him. "Jack, there could have been any number of delivery people around today. We can ask, but anyone in a brown overall or on a bicycle could have come to the house today without anyone batting an eyelid."

Her businesslike approach recalled him to his senses. He turned back to the waiter. "I'm sorry, we'll need your fingerprints – yours, mine and the lady's need to be eliminated from the envelope and the letter."

The young man agreed without hesitation and was dispatched to find something to use as an evidence bag.

"How odd," remarked Phryne. "Surely someone isn't silly enough to think that you're corrupt in some way, Jack?"

He shrugged. "You and I both know it's not true, but it's not as though we take out a full page advertisement in the newspaper every time we solve a case, listing every decision made and the reasons why."

She nodded slowly. It would be all too easy for discretion to be painted as deception. Especially if the outcome wasn't the popular choice.

"Are you going to tell Bill?" she asked.

"God, no," he replied hastily. "Some lunatic's got it in for me – that happens. I'm not going to go running to the Chief Commissioner every time life gets unpleasant."

It was probably an unconscious instinct that had him take her hand, though, as they started to walk slowly back to the house.

"The language of the note was quite … aggressive," she said pensively. "Almost like … the press?"

"Hmn," was the only affirmative response she got from the Chief Inspector, but the message had got through. "You think I should ask at the _Argus_ for Travis' latest exploits? Come to that, I wonder what Fredrick Burn's doing these days?"

"In that, you have the advantage of me, Jack," remarked Phryne dryly. "I haven't the slightest interest in either of those delectable examples of the Fourth Estate." She stopped walking, perforce halting him too. "I also have no fears of either of them. Pathetic and rather stupid examples of their profession. Regina Charlesworth would eat either of them for breakfast."

At the mention of the name of Phryne's former teacher, turned journalist, their eyes met. Jack's lips twitched. He knew what was coming next and had a good idea how it would be delivered.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Jack … I've been meaning to catch up with Miss Charlesworth for simply _ages_. Do you think she'd like to come round for a cocktail before dinner this evening?" Mrs Robinson had already turned and started strolling back to the house, almost talking to herself. "I could telephone her from here. I know Aunt P wouldn't mind. And she's so wonderfully well-connected amongst the press. What do you think, Jack?" she asked absently, then halted.

The Chief Inspector was standing, hands in pockets, fully twenty yards behind her, eyeing her sardonically. Point made, he jogged down the lawn to catch her up.

"I think it would be very interesting to see Miss Charlesworth again, and I wouldn't dream of standing between you and Prudence's telephone," he grinned. "Do your worst, Miss Fisher."

Then, as she started to turn away, he caught her by the waist and dragged her back.

" _It's usually immeasurably better than my best, after all_ ," he whispered.

She placed a manicured hand on a chiselled cheekbone. "I fully intend to allow you all the practice you need to improve your best efforts, Chief Inspector," she said firmly. "Though, judging by the time it took me to progress from my bath to the front door this morning, I'd suggest you're doing Just Fine."

She simpered. He smirked. She telephoned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Phryne, this martini is _heavenly_ ," pronounced Miss Charlesworth, smacking her lips in a most un-schoolmistressy manner. "Who is your genius?"

"The butler, Miss Charlesworth," replied Phryne. "And I hope you have no more luck appropriating him than you had when you tried to steal my then-assistant, now business partner to be your Agony Aunt. You remember Dorothy? Was Williams, now Collins – though, like me, she keeps her maiden name for work purposes." She gestured to the smiling woman who was delicately nursing the nearest thing to sin in a glass that she could imagine. Miss Fisher might swear by a martini, but Miss Williams felt herself quite daring enough with an amontillado, thank you very much.

"An excellent notion," remarked Miss Charlesworth approvingly. "Mr Collins doesn't mind, I hope?"

"It was his idea, Miss Charlesworth," said Dot proudly.

"A refreshingly Modern Man, then – or a well-trained one!" joked Miss Charlesworth. "You are to be congratulated." Then she turned and raised an eyebrow to Miss Fisher.

"Delighted though I am to have the chance to see your face and drink your gin, Phryne – why am I here?"

Phryne's lips twisted to a wry grin. "You know me far too well for comfort, Regina – and I still struggle to feel comfortable calling you that," she admitted.

"I can only suggest you place some soft cushions in the small of your back, then, because you're going to need to be comfortable with it," retorted Miss Charlesworth acerbically. "I say again," and in so doing, settled herself back in her own chair with every sign of staying put until she had an answer – a true journalist, "why am I here?"

Phryne duly relaxed back into her armchair, glass dangling languidly from one hand, and gave the words bluntly.

"Jack's had a poison-pen letter suggesting that he's crooked. Corrupt. 'Bent' was the precise word used."

"Resorting to words of one syllable – always a hallmark of the gutter press," said Miss Charlesworth thoughtfully. She gazed into her glass for a moment, and asked of no-one in particular, "Is it true?"

Phryne's reaction was the merest tightening of the lips. Dot, on the other hand, could scarcely have leaped to the attack more avidly if it had been her own husband's honesty being questioned.

"Of course not! The Inspector – the Chief Inspector – is a thoroughly honest man …"

"Calm down, Dot, darling," said Phryne soothingly. "Regina had to ask. It's her job. If she hadn't she'd have been no use to us." She turned back to the older woman. "What Dot says is true, though. Jack can look at every case he's been involved in with a conscience that's as clear as Mr Butler's block of boiled water ice."

"I suspected as much," said Miss Charlesworth calmly. "He's not got a bad poker face, but it was plain as a pikestaff that he was head over heels for you even at that awful time when poor Lavender was murdered. Anyone that bad at hiding their heart couldn't really be on the take."

Phryne wrinkled her brow. "Really? But that was …" her words died away and she could only gaze wonderingly at her former teacher. _That was when we'd barely met_.

Regina raised an elegant brow. "Really."

Then placed her glass firmly on the table and clasped her hands on her lap in a businesslike fashion.

"So, what you want to know is – where are the hints of scandal? What is it that my esteemed competitors believe has been hidden from them?" She nodded judiciously. "I think I can help with that. Give me a couple of days."

"Two days?" asked Phryne. For an idol of instant answers, this seemed … idle.

Regina nodded as she rose to her feet and collected her things. "Two lunches, two dinners. I will telephone you after that."

As if responding to a stage manager's cue, the telephone rang. A few moments later, Mr Butler appeared at the door.

"The Chief Inspector is on the telephone, Miss."

"Hang on, Regina, will you?" asked Phryne, a sixth sense tugging at her brain as she went to pick up the receiver. "Hello, Jack? Are you coming to join us?"

"Phryne, is Soo there?"

"Well, yes, I think so? Hold on," she covered the mouthpiece. "Soo?" she called.

"Yes, Miss?" came a voice from behind her, making her jump. Phryne cursed inwardly. It was in many ways pleasing to have staff like Lin Soo and Mr B who were so marvellously discreet, but there were times when she'd wish they would wear hobnailed boots. Or tap shoes, perhaps. Her errant mind conjured an image of Soo and Mr Butler clasped in a ballroom hold, spinning on polished parquet in an endless spiral of canter-time Viennese pivots; then dismissed it because the idea of Soo allowing a man to lead her anywhere, even on the dance floor, was ridiculous.

"Yes, Soo's here. Do you need to speak to her?"

"No … no, I just wanted to check. There's been another letter. Delivered here, to the station. I'm … on my way."

"Another letter? Jack, what did it say? Was it about Soo?" But the line was dead. In the time-honoured manner, she rattled the lever, but to no avail; the Chief Inspector was no longer On The Line.

Miss Fisher replaced the handset with more force than was strictly necessary, and turned to face what had become a full audience of Regina, Dot and Soo, with Mr Butler hovering in the background pretending to straighten the coats on the hall stand.

She could only shrug. "He wanted to know if Soo was here, and when I said she was, he ..." she flapped a hand dismissively, "hung up."

"A letter about Miss Lin?" The query came, unexpectedly, from Mr Butler. "Is she in danger of some kind?"

"I don't know, Mr B – but Soo, as Jack wanted to be reassured that you were here, maybe stay in for a while, hmm?" suggested her mistress gently. "At least until we know what's bothering him."

The little maid scowled. She was generally accustomed to looking after herself, and after the constraining environment of her grandmother's residence, relished the freedom afforded her at the Robinson house.

Phryne was about to come up with some placatory words, but was forestalled by her factotum. "Soo, I would be happy to take you a little further through my cocktail recipes, if you would like?"

A dazzling grin confirmed that she would Very Much Like, and the pair disappeared kitchen-wards

The perceptive Miss Charlesworth narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

"She saved his life," remarked Phryne conversationally.

"Ah, that would account for it," Regina replied.

"Account for what?" asked Dot, frowning.

"Well, you must have noticed the rather charming May-September romance that's burgeoning between your maid and your butler, Phryne?"

Miss Fisher opened her mouth to ridicule the idea, before her eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped and she turned to gaze at the doorway through which her staff had just passed. Then the shocked expression turned to a grin as broad as – well, the Pacific Ocean.

"Mr _Butler_ " she whispered admiringly. "You _old dog_ , you!"

"Don't be silly, Phryne," Miss Charlesworth contradicted briskly. "He wouldn't dream of presuming. More's the pity," she reflected.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"'Get rid of the Chow. We all know Miss Fisher's Celestial tastes are pretty terrestrial, but you don't want anyone knowing you're in bed with the opium trade, do you?' Charming. And all lies, of course," Miss Fisher remarked as she scanned the second note. "Presumably we're meant to believe that your correspondent either thinks you're cosied up to the opium traders, or doesn't care either way." Then she looked up, and Jack was startled to witness her expression. Her tone was relaxed, but her eyes were almost black with fury.

No-one insulted the Chinese to Miss Fisher. Not if they had plans for a healthy retirement, anyway.

"Sadly, if a newspaper printed a story that the Chief Inspector was turning a blind eye to the opium trade, public opinion would almost certainly lynch him first and ask questions later," said Miss Charlesworth.

"And no matter what we did to refute the claim, some mud would stick," agreed Jack gloomily. He met Phryne's gaze, which was becoming steadily calmer as she moved on from incandescent to merely murderous. "It did occur to me to wonder whether they meant Lin Chung, but as he's not here, it could only mean Soo. I'm sorry, Phryne. I don't know what to suggest."

"Well, in the short term it's easily dealt with," said Phryne briskly. "Soo is going to take a short holiday in Queenscliff, having slammed her way out of here in high dudgeon first thing in the morning. Actually, not first thing – let's make it mid-morning, to give any observer the chance to get here and watch her being 'dismissed'. Bert and Cec can take her down in the taxi; and I might have to lend her Mr Butler. For security," she said nonchalantly. "He can go on the train so as not to arouse suspicion."

"Queenscliff? Is that wise?" asked Jack. "And surely you can't cope without Mr Butler for long."

"You'll be surprised what I can cope with in a good cause, Jack," she said with an eyebrow raised. "Anyway, I can always get a temporary cook from the agency for a few days."

"Buying time _would_ be helpful," agreed Regina. "I've at least now got a hint about the kind of thing that's going to be held over you, so I shall take myself off and start fixing up my meetings."

She helped herself to coat and hat, and turned, hand on the front door latch, to survey the three sleuths.

"Don't panic – not that I think you would; and keep me posted." With that, she whisked out of the door.

"Miss …" said Dot hesitantly, as they returned to the parlour. "Do you think we need to go back over the Inspector's cases – sorry, the Chief Inspector's cases …"

"Dorothy, _please_ , Inspector is fine," said the policeman in question. "It's accepted shorthand, and if you still can't face calling me Jack, I'd prefer it to the full title. If nothing else, all my conversations will be that bit faster."

"Well – _Jack_ –" Miss Williams flushed to the roots of her hair and all those present acknowledged that this would be a losing battle, "should we perhaps go through some of your cases to see if there are things that were kept quiet and might be … misinterpreted?"

Phryne and Jack's eyes met. As ever, Dot had gone straight to the nub of the issue and identified a laborious task that could solve the mystery.

"At the very least, Jack, it might help us get on to the front foot before the next threat arises," suggested Phryne. He nodded.

"It's a lot of work, though, Dorothy," he cautioned. "Can you possibly take it on?"

"Of course!" she said cheerfully. "Especially if I can be allowed the case files at home. A lot of the ones that were at all public I'll know most of the pertinent details of anyway, so it might not be as hard as all that." A thought struck her. "How far back do you think we should go?"

Phryne turned from the drinks tray where she was decanting the last of the martini into two glasses and topping up Dot's sherry. "I think we certainly don't need to look back any further than our return from England. We may be up against a lunatic, but it would have to be a lunatic of long memory and extreme rancour to dig up stories older than that." She handed the other two their drinks, with markedly different results – Dot looked at her second sherry as though it was liable to leap out of the glass and scald her, while Jack's martini hardly touched the sides. Wordlessly, she handed him her own glass, which he raised to her in grateful toast and sipped at a more decorous pace.

"So, stick to the murders then?" Dot asked conversationally. It didn't seem to occur to her that her words might sound a little … brutal, though Mr & Mrs Robinson exchanged a humorous glance.

"Stick to the murders," affirmed Jack. "I'll send your friendly local Senior Constable round with them in the morning."

Dorothy smiled, and glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh, Miss, I should go! Miss Stubbs is going to the pictures this evening, and I promised I'd be home."

She hastily collected her things, called farewells in the direction of the kitchen and hurried away.

Alerted by Dot's departure, Mr Butler reappeared. "Is everything all right, Miss?"

"Perfectly all right, Mr B. We'll have dinner as soon as you can manage it – and if it gives Mr Robinson time to supervise bathtime in the nursery, so much the better," she smiled. "And don't disappear once you've served it, please; we need to discuss your holiday plans."

"Holiday plans, Miss?" Mr Butler went so far as to raise his eyebrows a little, such was his surprise. However, it was swiftly contained. "Very good, Miss."

He closed the double doors, leaving Mr Robinson to regard Mrs Robinson through half-closed eyes.

"You're up to something."

"Me, Jack? How could you think such a thing?"

"Because you're about to send the man who runs your household like a well-oiled machine away for a few days, and not only are you not concerned, you're positively gleeful."

"It's the sheer joy of knowing that Mr B will have a well-earned rest, Jack."

He placed his glass down. "Now I know you're lying. Lin Soo is many things, but 'restful' isn't one of them."

"Oh, I'm sure she could be, Jack. In the right company. And talking of company, isn't it time for Elizabeth's ablutions?"

He instantly agreed that it was, and with no thought other than the glorious mayhem lying in wait in the nursery bathroom, he headed for the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"So, Desmond – you're staying off the police's back just now?" asked Miss Charlesworth, stirring her coffee idly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Regina," the cadaverous gentleman sitting across the table from her wrinkled his brow. "If there's a story to be had, the _Bugle_ will be on it. We had a field day over the Sanderson scandal after all."

"That water's well under the bridge by now, though."

"It is; and all the signs we have are that our police are distressingly well-behaved these days. Unless you know something to the contrary?"

Regina laughed. "Desmond, you must know that I wouldn't tell you if I _did_! But I will certainly tell you that I don't. In fact, I've got rather a soft spot for their newest DCI – you remember that awful business when Lavender was murdered? He ran the investigation. Nice chap. Very sensible."

"Name?"

"Robinson."

"Is he the one who's married to that fabulous society dame? The one with the legs?"

"Desmond, at least _try_ not to sound like an odious lech. Especially when you're referring to my former pupil, the Honourable Phryne Fisher"

"That's the girl," said the newspaperman with satisfaction. "And she _does_ have great legs."

"She does indeed, but she didn't acquire them for your personal delectation," retorted Regina. "She also happens to be an extremely successful private detective."

"You don't say?" remarked Desmond meditatively. "Do you think she'd do an interview?"

"She might," said Regina, in carefully noncommittal tones. "It will depend on whether you can avoid discussing her nether limbs. And tear her away from her family."

"Gams like that and she has family?" The disappointment was so transparent as to be laughable.

"Well, they don't make a big deal of it, but yes, she and Jack have a little girl. About a year old now. The image of her mother. I doubt you'd get her to talk about that, though." Regina crossed her fingers in her lap and prayed that Phryne and Jack wouldn't resent her offering their private life on a plate. "Phryne adopted another daughter a few years ago, but she's in her late teens now and very much her own woman."

Desmond narrowed his eyes. "And what are you, her agent now?"

Regina laughed again. "Desmond, you're the one asking the questions," (she said, with a hint of self-congratulation). "I'll probably see her in the next week or so" _I will go straight to see her when we have finished dinner_ "and I can put in a word if you would like?"

Desmond indicated that he would indeed Like, and they parted on healthily competitive terms – as was always the case.

Out Of The Question was Jack's response.

"It's okay, Jack – we may not need it," soothed Phryne. "What Regina has done – most brilliantly, I have to say – is store up an ace in the hole for us. If this is going to be a war in the pages of the press, this can be a fairly sizeable cannonball in our arsenal."

"Dreadfully mixed metaphors, Phryne – don't ever try to get a writing job – but I'm glad you saw my intention," said Regina. "After all, I had to get _something_ useful out of all this fine dining, apart from the need to go on a strict diet for the next few weeks."

"No joy on the scandal front?" asked Phryne.

"None whatsoever. You and yours, Chief Inspector, are – and I quote – 'distressingly well-behaved'. There is, to the best knowledge of the Editors of my acquaintance, no current investigation going on by any of their people into past convictions. Sorry," apologised Regina. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take myself home and relax with a hot bath, a large Scotch and Jane Austen."

Waving away their thanks, she closed the door firmly behind her, leaving two sleuths to meander disconsolately back to the parlour and slump on the sofa.

"Not the press, then?" mused Phryne. "Bother. I was so sure."

He laced their fingers. "Who does that leave? It's not the usual style of blackmail – there hasn't been a single demand for money yet."

" _Yet_ " replied Phryne darkly. "Perhaps this loathsome individual's just working up to a nice big demand."

Jack shrugged. "Well, we can't do much more tonight. Maybe Dot will come up with something from the case files. Have you heard from Soo or Mr Butler?"

She smiled a little at that. "Oh yes. Mr B was strictly instructed to telephone me every day. They've been fishing."

"Fishing? Now, that's not fair – you've got me imagining what Mr B would do with fish straight from the ocean and my mouth's watering. This agency cook's all very well for Good Plain food but I miss his finesse."

"Well, I'm sure Soo will appreciate it. I'm very glad I rented them a cottage rather than putting them in a hotel or guest house to be stared at and remarked upon behind liver-spotted hands."

Had Phryne been a fly on the wall in the kitchen of said cottage at that moment, she would have been even more glad.

"I must be all of thirty years older than you."

"Then I must begin to learn from your experience straight away, Tobias. I have a great deal of catching up to do. I hope you will be patient with me."

Mr Butler gave a slightly bewildered smile. "Patience is a skill I believe I have acquired."

Soo congratulated herself that she had bewildered Mr Butler. Miss Fisher would have expressed frank disbelief (and would do so in due course) that her imperturbable factotum could be so nonplussed.

And then grinned. Widely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Dot pushed the files to one side of the kitchen table, and pulled her notebook in front of her. Hugh poured the last cup of tea, and took his seat beside her; Jack and Phryne ranged themselves on the other side of the table.

"I decided to start with the murder at Warley," Dot explained, "and I've been looking for cases where the Insp … _Jack_ " she corrected herself consciously, making both Robinsons hide smiles, "had to use some discretion – where the press perhaps didn't get the full story."

"There wasn't much to hide at Warley," commented Phryne. "Andrew Menzies' relationship with Miss Lambert wasn't exactly trumpeted, but it wasn't hidden either."

"No, that's what I thought," agreed Dot. "And when poor Father Ryan was killed, the whole point of the defence was to be completely open about the circumstances."

"Quite right," said Jack. "I see where you're going with this. Have you found anything that we might need to look at more closely, then?"

"Very little, really. There was the relationship between Thomas Rose, the chorister who was hanged, and Finn O'Connor."

Jack nodded. "There was a little fancy footwork there – young Finn had suffered enough without being jailed for homosexuality as well."

"And our Poison Pen has already shown himself to be Sinophobic – what are the chance of him being homophobic too?" asked Phryne. "Good work, Dorothy."

"There was one thing about the Father Ryan case that I thought of, because it wasn't in the file …" Dot said hesitantly.

"Ah." Jack raised his head, recollection dawning.

"Oh." Hugh's colour was already heightened.

"Don't tell me, Jack – you managed to omit the fact that your Constable slept through a murder?" guessed Phryne.

"He was off duty. It was pure bad luck, and wouldn't have added anything to the evidence," insisted Jack stubbornly.

"Does anyone else know?" Phryne asked.

"I certainly didn't mention it to anyone," said Jack. "Collins?"

"There was a bit of ribbing about it at the station, sir," confessed Hugh. "The sergeant could put two and two together when he saw the timings on my statement."

"I didn't know," said Jack with an intent look. "Good natured?"

"Completely, sir," replied his Constable. "Sergeant White's got four kids of his own, he knows what it was like."

"And it will have stayed within the force, Jack, surely?" asked Phryne. Jack pursed his lips and was inclined to agree.

"Those were the only things I could come up with," finished Dorothy, closing her notebook and picking up her teacup for another sip.

"It's a start, Dorothy, thank you," said Jack. "When the next note comes, we might not have to waste time casting around for cause."

They didn't have to wait long. By the time Phryne had driven the policemen back to City South, another typewritten letter was sitting on Jack's desk with the rest of the post. At least, Phryne commented acerbically, they didn't need to guess what it was about.

CAN'T HAVE A CONSTABLE SNOOZING ON THE JOB. GET RID OF THE CONSTABLE OR YOU'LL BE ON THE FRONT PAGE WITH YOUR OWN SLEAZY STORY.

"Our Poison Pen is becoming more confident," remarked Phryne. "Having seen how quickly we folded to the demand about Soo, he's becoming more outrageous."

Collins had, understandably, paled when he saw the message.

"Sir …" he gulped. "I'll – I'll just go."

"It's okay, Collins," said Jack easily, "you'll do nothing of the sort. I've got my own idea about how to deal with this one, but I'll need to send a memo that might take a couple of days to action. In the meantime, by all means keep a low profile, but there's no question of you leaving the force."

Some of the younger man's colour returned, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

"Jack, look!" Phryne had discarded the letter and picked up the envelope in gloved hands – though fingerprinting had so far proved fruitless. "Was it in with the post?"

"Yes, why?"

"It wasn't posted!" she said excitedly. "Look, there's a stamp, but no postmark. This was hand-delivered!"

He looked, and saw that she was right. Then pulled a face. "Even if it was, I'm not sure it gets us much further forward. If it was put through the letter box at around the same time, no-one would be able to tell."

She raised an eyebrow. "Unless it was an inside job? One of your own men here?"

Jack and Hugh exchanged glances. Hugh shook his head slightly, and Jack spoke up. "No. We could be wrong, but I think Collins and I both agree there's no-one in this station who could or would behave like this."

"Then we'll have to sit and watch who else is delivering things here, Jack!" she said firmly.

"Stake out my own station? Come on, Phryne – even if we had the resources, we could be there for days, waiting until the next delivery," complained Jack.

She slumped in her chair sulkily, but admitted the truth of what he said. She mused for a while, then shook her head. "I'm stumped. I'm going to go home and wait for the latest bulletin from Queenscliff. Are you in for dinner, Jack?"

He pulled a face. "Lamb chops for the third night running? Try and keep me away."

She grinned, hand on the handle of the door where the paint work announcing Jack's new title was still bright and fresh. "I'll make it up to you, _Chief Inspector_."

"I look forward to it, Miss Fisher," the Inspector replied courteously.

Collins' ability to feign deafness was, he noted approvingly, coming on by leaps and bounds.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The Poison Pen proved, however, to have little patience with waiting for memos to be actioned. It was only two days later that Jack found himself looking at the late edition of the _Clarion_ with a blank face and a set jaw.

There, on the bottom right, was a photograph of himself and Phryne. It had been taken without their knowledge, but was straightforward enough – the two of them walking down a street somewhere – he with his hands in his pockets, she likewise. They were both frowning – probably puzzling over some knotty problem in a case. As professional portraits went, it was unremarkable.

The caption, however, told a different story.

 _MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE: How Melbourne's newest Detective Chief Inspector tried to circumvent the law. Full story coming soon!_

Looking at the picture again, he had to give Poison Pen credit. Love's Young Dream they certainly were not – not in that image.

The telephone on his desk rang. He sighed.

"DCI Robinson. Yes, sir, I've seen it. No, sir, you're right, it's mostly false. Yes, sir, I can deal with it. Thank you, sir." He was about to hang up, when he thought of something else. "Sir, the memo I sent you? Yes. Yes. I think there may be a vacancy coming up shortly at one of the other stations, so it would be good to get a plan in place. Excellent. I'll let him know. Thank you, sir." He replaced the receiver and reflected that there might, after all, be some benefit to being of more senior rank; no-one was apparently going to make him employ Miss Fisher as a Special Constable this time, just because of an unfortunate picture in a newspaper.

The other occupant of the photograph was, it had to be said, less easily dealt with.

When he returned to 221B The Esplanade later that afternoon, Phryne was talking on the telephone. Her words were cheery but her voice had a certain brittle quality.

"I've been accused of many things in my life, Leroy – but no-one's ever been foolish enough to call me Convenient. Goodbye." She placed the receiver on its cradle with immense care, and turned the full force of her blazing anger on the policeman who had yet to take off his hat.

"Jack, we _have_ to start watching your office. I want to know whose vital organs I'm going to be eviscerating."

"Phryne, we really don't need to watch the office."

"Why. Not." Never had a question so resoundingly failed to sound a note of query.

"Because I'm starting to think I know who's doing this."

"Oh, well _done_ , Jack. And this is going to be that unique crime where proof isn't necessary?" Miss Fisher was on a mission, and the sarcasm suggested she was not to be distracted lightly.

"Please, Phryne," he moved in. It was that thing he could do with Miss Fisher when sentient humans would usually read the signs and move away to a Safe Distance – like, for example, Borneo. "Let me take it from here. _Trust me_. It will be fine. I've spoken to the Chief, and he's in no doubt whatsoever that we can resolve this." He gave a wry grin. "We might still have to deploy Miss Charlesworth's cannonball, mind you."

Dinner that night (lamb cutlets – what else?) was a slightly chilly affair, and it took Jack a long time to drop off to sleep – which perhaps explained the unusual occurrence the following morning when he awoke as usual, at first light, but found that instead of being liberally strewn with the limbs of a soft, warm, lavender-scented octopus, he had the bed to himself.

He ran the usual checks (bathrobe, swimsuit) and concluded that Miss Fisher had arisen extraordinarily early for some purpose other than swimming. Mildly concerned, but far from panicking, and lacking the services of Lin Soo to inform him which garments were missing from the wardrobe, he dressed and descended to the kitchen, where Elizabeth Jane greeted him with a spoon waved so enthusiastically that it only just missed his eye. Having had his day made by being identified accurately as Dada, he took a couple of pieces of toast and made his way to City South.

All was peaceful. The morning press had apparently declined the _Clarion_ 's invitation to speculate on his matrimonial state (a follow up to the _Clarion_ having, as expected, had them decline to name their source for the original); he thought he detected the firm hand of Regina Charlesworth and wondered idly if there ought to be such a thing as a press agent for the police force.

If he'd half-hoped to find his office occupied by a very cross lady detective, he wasn't so disappointed as to let his feelings on the matter be known. The first hour was spent on some detailed, laborious and rather unusual paperwork; and an appointment set for noon. Then he closed the file, stretched both hands out on his desk and drummed his fingers pensively.

"Collins? I'm just going out for half an hour." The lowest-key Senior Constable in Melbourne saluted smartly and went back to rearranging the Lost Property cupboard.

DCI Robinson paused for a moment as he left City South. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leaned a shoulder against the stonework of the doorway and tipped his head down for a moment, apparently lost in thought; then raised it and scanned the view in front of him. The occasional car passed; a child was scolded by its mother for straying into the street; and the leaves of the trees in the small park opposite waved gently in the idle breeze.

The Inspector's lips twitched.

He glanced around, before strolling across the road to the park, and headed for the most verdant of the trees, a graceful chestnut.

Hands still in pockets, he leaned his back against the trunk and spoke, apparently to the fresh, clear air.

"Would you rather have a flask of tea, a flask of whisky, or a bedpan at this stage?"

"Damn you, Jack. How did you know?"

 _Because you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, which obviously means you will try to protect me by sitting in a tree opposite my office for hours on end to try to clear my name_.

"Lucky guess."

"I'm coming down. Hang on … AGH!"

Glancing up at the unexpected cry, he extended his arms at just the right moment. Momentum was, however, against them, and although he broke her fall, they both ended up rolling on the grass.

Miss Fisher was on her feet first, and sprinting for the police station.

"Sorry, Jack," she called over her shoulder, "with you in a minute, but your suggestion about the bedpan was SPOT ON".


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

A somewhat relieved Miss Fisher rejoined the DCI a few minutes later. Mindful of the photograph in the previous day's newspaper, he decided that a Public Display of Affection was called for. There being, however, unfortunate Public Decency laws offering barriers to ravishing Miss Fisher against the chestnut tree, he opted instead simply to wing an arm in her direction as they strolled. She took it, and smiled up at him as he squeezed the arm against his side.

"I think I may have forgotten to mention in the past few hours that I love you very much, Miss Fisher."

"Your oversight was noted, Chief Inspector," she responded solemnly. "Please try not to let it happen again."

"I will do my utmost. So, did you see anything interesting?"

"Well, I think your newest constable may have found himself a rather pretty girl friend who is so besotted as to be prepared to walk him to work in the morning; and Constable Collins is an excellent timekeeper, as is that new Detective Chief Inspector – though someone should speak to him about turning up for work with toast crumbs on his tie, and what appears to be a smidgen of boiled egg on his ear ..." the DCI in question hastily swiped both tie and ear, muttering something about low flying teaspoons, "but sadly no suspicious characters dropping off envelopes around the time the postie came." She pulled a face. "Sorry, Jack. And I can't really go back up the tree now, in broad daylight."

"I agree," he replied, "and in any case, I have a task you can help me with which will be much more interesting."

"Keep talking, Inspector. Does it involve your tie in any way?"

"Not specifically, though I'm sure I could come up with a few ideas for that later. No, I would like you to be my _Agente Provocatrice_ , if you feel up to the challenge?"

"That sounds right up my street, Inspector. Can I ask, what is your choice of venue? Your office is handy – we could lock the door, and I can _try_ to be quiet. Or if you have something more ... _demanding_ in mind, we could perhaps pop back to the boudoir...?"

"Actually, I was thinking more in terms of North Melbourne police station."

"Oh. Gosh. My goodness, Jack. I knew you were developing more adventurous tastes, but ..."

"Sorry, Miss Fisher, it wasn't actually that kind of provocation I had in mind. Let me explain."

Although she was naturally disappointed to find that she wasn't to have her Wicked Way with the Inspector (or at least, not till much later), Miss Fisher laughed heartily at his plan and endorsed it enthusiastically. She also demanded to be allowed to witness a certain interview which took place in his office before they set off, because it meant that she was allowed to Kiss Hugh – who was then allowed to remain behind in the privacy of the Chief Inspector's office to telephone Dorothy.

Detective Inspector Rossiter was, sadly, not quite ready for his midday appointment. The Detective Chief Inspector and Miss Fisher were mysteriously left kicking their respective heels for fully twenty minutes before Rossiter came out of his office, expressing enormous surprise at finding them there. No-one had told him. He was shocked, and would make sure that the culprit was disciplined accordingly. And How Lovely to see Mrs Robinson as well.

It was the first time Phryne had experienced treatment as The Little Woman. She resolved that it would be the last.

"So, how can I help, Robinson?" The discourtesy was as throwaway as it was deliberate. Jack now outranked the other man; but he pretended not to notice the _faux pas_.

"There are actually a couple of matters on which I'm hoping you might be able to advise me, Rossiter," said Jack, his brow furrowing with worry. "First, I've got a staffing issue."

"Oh? That's a pity. There's been a bug going round … has it hit City South?"

"No, no, nothing like that. No, I've lost a Senior Constable and it's left me in something of a cleft stick."

"That's terrible news. Not Collins, surely? What's he done?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Jack hastily. "Sorry, not something I can talk about."

Rossiter gave his oiliest smile. "I do understand. These disciplinary matters can be so difficult."

"But, Jack, it's not a disciplinary!" exclaimed Phryne artlessly.

"Phryne, please," he gestured as though to stop her speaking, but she ploughed on.

"I don't see why you can't tell the Inspector? I think it's lovely!"

It was Rossiter's turn to look puzzled. "Er – _lovely_?"

"Why yes!" gushed Phryne. "And so well deserved!"

"Miss Fisher, I really must insist …" said the Chief Inspector helplessly.

Rossiter was starting to become a little flushed. "I'm sorry, 'well deserved' in what sense?"

"Why, his promotion! To Sergeant!" blurted Phryne, then looked straight to Jack with a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Jack, I thought, with it being William Cooper's express order, everyone would know!"

"No, Miss Fisher, everyone did _not_ know. Rossiter, I'm sure you understand – it must remain under wraps until it appears in the Bulletin."

Rossiter appeared temporarily unable to speak, so keeping quiet on the matter was not going to be a problem.

"So, do you think you might be able to spare me a Constable for a week or so, just while Collins is getting his briefing?" asked Jack, with every sign of urgency.

Rossiter could only nod, but his flush was becoming more pronounced; Jack noted his opponent's discomfiture with satisfaction and moved in for the kill.

"That brings me to the other matter. I don't know if you saw yesterday's _Clarion_?"

"I … may have done," was all Rossiter could say, swallowing hard.

"Good, good – that makes things easier," said Jack. "I was casting my mind back to the time when Miss Fisher," he flashed her a boyish smile that made her heart melt, and she had no problem whatsoever maintaining her character of lovestruck spouse, "finally agreed to be my wife. It was such a difficult time; we were dealing with the murder of Gervase Carstairs, and could barely spare the time to slip away to church" this earned him another fond glance and a squeeze of his hand between two beautifully manicured ones. "Do you recall that time?"

"I do," Rossiter was on the defensive but attempting to regroup. "A very sudden wedding. And it meant you never had to testify against Miss Fisher …"

He had no sooner uttered the words than he regretted them.

"I'm sorry? Testify in what sense, Rossiter?" Jack could do Dignified Hauteur beautifully, thought his wife admiringly.

"Well … her gun …."

"Her gun, yes, the one that was stolen by the murderer? I'm sorry, Rossiter, your point eludes me."

"We didn't know at the time. That it was stolen, I mean." He was floundering now.

"Ah, I understand. So what you're saying is that you believe my wife to be a murderess?"

"Jack, I'm sure he doesn't mean that."

"NO! No. Of course not. Only …"

"Yes?" Jack's tone was as icy as his glacial expression.

Rossiter was apparently unable to express his point more eloquently and gave up altogether. Jack waited for a few pregnant seconds, to let the air become just that bit chillier.

"Do you wish to remain with the force, Rossiter?"

"What? Yes! Yes, of course!"

"Then can I suggest that you attempt to recall the benefits of an orderly hierarchy of command," said Jack – very, very quietly.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Chief Inspector." The words were only muttered, but they were audible. Just.

Jack stood, and regarded the other man dismissively. "The instant you feel unable to support your position within the force, either the Chief Commissioner or I will be happy to receive your resignation. No-one else will ever hear of this; on that you have my word."

Then he leaned down to glare at Rossiter's shrinking form. "And you can rely on _my_ word, Rossiter." The emphasis was intended to be acidic, and it worked.

Then Jack straightened, and in more normal tones, he turned to Phryne, who smiled at him enquiringly.

"Talking of giving one's word, I promised Lin Soo that we would collect her from the station. She's due back from her holiday in Queenscliff in about half an hour, I think – we'd better hurry."

There was a noise something like a strangled squeal from the other side of the desk, but Mr & Mrs Robinson ignored it. He held the door, she sashayed through it.

She took his arm as they strolled back to the car.

" _I must say, Chief Inspector, you do Commanding awfully well_ ," she whispered gleefully.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why, Miss Fisher, does it never work on you?"


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I can't quite believe we're doing this, Fredrick," muttered Phryne, maintaining her careless smile.

"Me neither, Miss Fisher," grumbled Burn, as he replaced his film, "but when Desmond says jump, I have to ask how high and try not to make awkward requests for a safety net for landing. Chief Inspector, could you perhaps put your arm around Miss Fisher's shoulders?"

"Along the back of the bench is as far as I'll go, Burn," replied Jack, equably; and _sotto voce_ to his nearest and dearest, " _because you didn't tell me you were going to wear something quite so provocative, Mrs Robinson_."

She turned her most sparkling grin to meet his eyes, and was rewarded with another click of the camera and a "lovely!" from the unlovely photographer.

"So, how long had you been engaged, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne pretended to ponder. "Hard to say. When did we first start talking about marriage, Jack?"

He slanted her a glance. "I think it was on the boat home from England."

"Oh, right," said Burn. "That was for that white slaving thing, yer?"

"Yes, that was why I had to go over there," confirmed Jack.

"So you popped the question on the boat back?"

Burn wasn't even trying to be difficult. He'd been told to do a job and just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Mr and Mrs Robinson weren't immediately able to agree on a reply that would be a) reasonably truthful and b) less troublesome than their existing predicament.

Help, however, was about to be forthcoming from the best possible, albeit least likely source.

Enter Elizabeth Jane Robinson. Stage Left.

Both parents spotted her, and were immediately transfixed. Her mother wanted to know how she had got away from the nursery in such flawless sartorial state and her father just hoped the dress would stay put this time, as Miss Elizabeth had an enchanting habit of removing her clothes on a whim, and this was one scenario where that really would be rather a bad idea.

Elizabeth tottered to the flower bed, and plucked the top few inches of a delphinium. She then turned, saw her parents and ambled happily towards them, holding the mangled flower out for her mother's delectation.

Phryne politely accepted the gift with a grin that was mirrored identically by the infant before her.

Jack then swept the child on to his lap, on the assumption that if he was holding the dress down it would stay put until the photographer had left. Phryne met his eye with barely-disguised mirth.

 _A woman should dress first and foremost for her own pleasure - so hold on tight, Jack, do. We don't want her undressing for anyone else's quite yet!_

The resulting photograph was the one chosen for the following day's front page.

 _All Hearts and Flowers for Melbourne's Newest Detective Chief Inspector_.

It only took two weeks after that day for the Other Ranks at City South to stop putting a flower on the DCI's desk – that was the amount of time it took for the water in the vase he produced on day two and placed behind the front desk to take his daily 'mystery' gifts to start to smell truly rancid.

Miss Charlesworth praised the photograph strategy but insisted it had nothing to do with her.

Soo and Mr B shook hands as they watched through the window; then he kept the hand and with appropriate reverence, lightly kissed it.


End file.
